Instead, he eased away, his large hand slipping to the small of her back, leaving a trail of heat and need pulsing through her.
“And what about me?” Enrique complained, clasping Ale’s outstretched hand and stepping in for a bro’s shoulder bump.
“I have a feeling you’re pretty confident about how good you look,” Natalia drawled, stepping around the guys to press her cheek against Anamaría’s in greeting.
“You’ve certainly got that right,” Anamaría said with a laugh.
“Is this the friend you mentioned, Alejandro?” Natalia asked, facing Enrique.
At six foot four he towered over the petite woman, but she didn’t seem the least bit awed by her brother’s charisma. In fact, red lips quirked, head tilted at a saucy angle, Natalia eyed Enrique as if she were studying a new painting, deciding whether it deserved her consideration. Anamaría bit back a grin. This was more than likely a first for her Lothario-impersonating brother, who was used to swoony sighs from most women.
“Shame we haven’t met sooner.” Thumbs hooked in his front jeans pockets, Enrique arched a rakish brow, his brown eyes sparking with interest. And challenge. His lips twisted in his trademark cocky smirk.
No way, Anamaría nearly groaned out loud. Had the nitwit already forgotten her warning that Natalia was off-limits when it came to his cat-and-mouse game?
She glanced at Alejandro thinking he’d prefer to pull the plug on the sexually charged sparks flying between E and Natalia. Surprisingly, Alejandro’s smirk mirrored her brother’s.
Ale crooked a finger at her and tipped his head to the side. “Come, I have a surprise I want to show you.”
She hesitated, but neither Enrique nor Natalia seemed to notice anyone else around them. “I’ll catch up with you later, E, okay?”
Her brother didn’t even answer.
“What the hell is going on back there?” she asked as soon as she and Alejandro had moved out of earshot.
“It’s either going to be World War Three or they’ll make their own fireworks while Natalia’s in Key West. I’m not exactly sure which.”
“Yeah, it’s that first one I’m worried about.”
“He’s a big boy. And believe me, Natalia can hold her own,” Ale assured her.
They reached the end of the support wall that divided the gallery into two sides, and he gently clasped her upper arm, drawing her to a halt. “Close your eyes.”
“What?”
His thumb rubbed her arm lightly, the friction raising goosebumps across her skin. “Just humor me, por favor.”
She frowned her confusion, but the hopeful plea in his dark eyes convinced her to go along with him.
“Fine, but only because you asked nicely.”
Once her eyes were closed, her other senses heightened. The murmur of people milling about and Little José’s giggle somewhere off to her right seemed louder. The scent of Alejandro’s seductive aftershave mixed with the fried empanadas, plantains, and croquetas from Miranda’s was more pronounced. The warmth of his light grip on her arm as he guided her forward a couple paces seeped down her arm.
Then his fingers moved to her shoulder, softly turning her to the right. The metallic squeak of his crutch hinted at his movement seconds before the material of his suit jacket brushed against her bare shoulder blades. She shivered, her body tingling with awareness.
“So, remember when you signed that release form giving me permission to display a picture of you?”
She gasped. “Dios mío, you promised to show me first.”
Her eyes fluttered and he quickly covered them with his hand. “Ah-ah-ah! Not yet.”
“Alejandro,” she drew out his name in a soft warning, suddenly nervous about what she would find hanging on the gallery wall.
He was constantly snapping pictures when they were together. That was nothing new. But there’d been that one afternoon a week or so ago when they had goofed around in her master bedroom, him clicking away like he used to when they were younger. Only these pics had gotten a little racy. Oh, she’d remained mostly clothed, but no way in hell did she want her papi walking in here to find a blown-up photograph of her in nothing but black lace panties and Alejandro’s button-down.
“Actually, I promised I wouldn’t share anything inappropriate,” he qualified.
An embarrassed flush crawled up her face, heating her cheeks. “My idea of inappropriate. Not yours,” she specified.
He chuckled, then said thank you to someone who walked by offering their praise. She couldn’t place the voice.
“You have my word,” he said softly, bending so close his chest pressed against her back. Instinctively she leaned against him, seeking the intimacy she had missed the past few days. His minty breath warmed the side of her face, as he continued. “This photograph is the opposite of inappropriate. It exudes joy, respect, comunidad, belonging, and love. Definitely love. It’s one of my favorite photographs because it represents everything that makes you absolutely perfect.”
“Ale.” His name whispered out on a breath, his declaration leaving her overwhelmed by his honesty.
She reached out blindly, needing a connection with him. His fingers caught hers, lacing together until they were palm to palm.
He raised their joined hands to press a kiss on her knuckles, and her chest tightened with longing.
“Are you ready?” he whispered.
“Yes.”
Chapter 19
Having passed the fat-burning zone back when he first covered her eyes, Anamaría’s heart rate triple-timed as he uncovered her eyes and they fluttered open.
She gasped, shock snatching the breath from her.
In the center of the pale wall in front of her, as the main highlight of the People of the World section, hung a poster-sized color photograph of her, Jones, and Eddie walking hand in hand at the Gay Pride Parade last weekend. Smaller photographs of people celebrating, mourning, working, performing, and going about their daily lives across the globe dotted the rest of the wall, completing the display, but the larger photograph of her with her partner and his husband lured passersby to the collection.
Unable to resist, she edged closer, eyes drawn to the image.
Her gaze flitted across the expanse, taking in every detail. From their linked hands, to the absolute joy on the men’s faces as they gazed at each other and her wide openmouthed grin, to the regal crown braid she’d woven in her hair and the sun’s glare off Jones’s dark bald head, to the rainbow letters in the LOVE posters other marchers held high in the background. Some details in sharp focus, others a mesmerizing blur of colors. All parts of one impactful, breathtaking piece.
The small label under the bottom right corner, written in a neat script, read: “Love Is Love; not for sale.”
“What do you think?” Alejandro asked, his tone insistent and hesitant and hopeful at the same time. As if he felt compelled to know yet was afraid of her answer.
“It’s incredible.” The words rushed out of her on a wave of heartfelt wonder. “Jones and Eddie are going to flip when they see this. It’s . . . it’s—”
Overcome with elation, she spun to face him. Her chiffon skirt billowed out in a wide circle, wrapping around his charcoal dress pants.